


Q's a lumberjack, but not OK...

by Kizzywiggle



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Beards, Cuddles, Established Relationship, Intimacy, Lumbersexual, M/M, Q has issues with looking young, Q makes dodgy decisions, Shaving, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7468770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle/pseuds/Kizzywiggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In my head this is a few months post-Skyfall, with Q and James having a manly man holiday in a poky, grotty, totally basic cabin somewhere near Skyfall (because Q thinks James needs proper closure).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Q's a lumberjack, but not OK...

**Author's Note:**

> This is the short, nasty, unedited ficlet birthed after an excited discussion on Twitter about Ben Whishaw (Q if you don't know his real name) FINALLY getting rid of his vast and hairy beard.
> 
> Thank you Bee and Sandra *smooch*

Water splashed to the accompaniment of clicking, clinking noises and a tuneless, happy humming.

James sat on the closed lid of the loo with one foot on the edge of the grimy (despite James's best efforts) little bathtub and his arm hooked around his bent knee. He leaned back against the cistern looking as leonine and calm as ever, but inside he was turned on as fuck and barely holding on.

Q stood at the equally little (but less grimy) sink carefully trimming his full, bushy beard close to his skin with a pair of scissors. They occasionally caught at the hairs, not being designed for the task, and as he winced it interrupted his hummed rendition of Modern Major-General by Gilbert and Sullivan. Several cheap Bic razors and a washcloth were soaking in scalding hot water in the sink while he worked.

With every snip, more and more of Q’s face became visible and he looked less like a skinny, pale bloke who was being eaten by a bear, and more like the skinny, pale bloke James had fallen in love with. Q closed the blades on a chunk of beard under his ear and they tangled before jamming shut. 

“Buggershitdamnbollocksarsefuck!” Q swore, impressively.

“Need any help?” James asked laconically, with a grin.

“No, no, it's _fine_ ,” Q said as he tugged and untangled. James saw tears in Q’s eyes and winced sympathetically. 

“Why the hell did you decide to shave off an _impressive_ six-month beard while we're in the middle of nowhere with none of the stuff you need to do it properly?” James asked.

“Because it's hot, my face is sweaty, and every time I suck your cock you complain I chafe your thighs and it totally ruins the mood!” snapped Q. At last the scissors came free, along with an immense hunk of man-fur. Q swore again under his breath and James chuckled. Five minutes later the beard was as trimmed as it could be with the now-blunt manicure scissors and Q slapped the hot flannel on his jaw to soften the hairs before shaving. James stood and moved behind Q, wrapping his arms around the younger man's waist and resting his chin on Q’s shoulder. 

Their eyes met in the mirror and held. Q’s annoyance softened into affection and exasperation, and James’s dimples made an appearance. “Why'd you grow it in the first place?” he asked. Q’s nose wrinkled and the little bit of skin visible between the hot flannel and his floppy fringe flushed. James pulled back and tried to look Q in the eye, but Q evaded him and reached for the can of James’s shaving foam. “Q…” James said.

“ _Because I was fed up with people thinking I'm a 'baby-faced genius!_ ’” yelled Q, then slapped the foam on his face and set to with the first Bic. 

James decided discretion was the better part of valour and said nothing, just holding Q as he worked. He felt Q’s muscles bunch and stretch, and watched him in the mirror as he shaved, noting the flash of his underarm hair as Q reached across himself; the swatch of skin under his jaw emerging pink and tender beneath the stroke of the blade; the sweat gathering and trickling down Q’s collarbones in the steamy bathroom. A deep, contented affection filled James - love and like and lust all stirred in together, and as Q’s face came out from under the beard James began pressing tiny, biting kisses across Q’s trapezoids. “I love you however you look,” he whispered.

Q worked through three razors getting his face properly shaved, and by the time he was finished - hot, sweaty and sore of face - he was cranky as well as aroused by James's attentions. He grumbled as James turned him round and pressed him back against the sink so he could kiss across Q’s face and cuddle into his neck. He batted him away. “Lay off, James!” 

James too a step back, and reached behind Q for the bottle of aftershave. Without breaking eye contact he poured the lotion into his palm, rubbed his hands together, and began to massage Q’s sore face with gentle, loving hands. The balm soothed Q’s abused pores, taking the sting and the burn away, leaving pleasure in its wake.

By the time James was satisfied with his handiwork, Q’s face was soft and moisturised, both men were breathing hard, and James's hands were slippy. They looked at each other - a breathless moment of shared understanding, then James quirked a brow and went for the button at Q’s waistband.

“Seems a shame to waste the lubrication,” he said with a flirty grin.


End file.
